


slow burn

by poetictragedy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, M/M, Painplay, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have new tattoos; Dean can't keep his hands to himself and Sam gets off on the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow burn

Three hours after they get their anti-possession tattoos, Dean sprawls out on the cheap (and dirty) motel bed, a beer in his hand, the other cradling the back of his head. He crosses his legs at the ankles and takes a sip from his beer, sighing when he pulls the bottle away from his lips, listening to the small sucking noise his lips make as they pull away. With his eyes glued to the TV set in front of the bed, Dean doesn't notice Sam getting up from his chair until he's making his way in front of the television set. "Hey!"  
  
Sam stops, blinks, and looks from Dean to the TV behind him, snorting when he sees Doctor Sexy on the screen. "You're not missing anything, Dean. Besides, I'll only be a few seconds, just let me walk alright?"   
  
Dean grumbles something about Sam being a gargantuan and looks around him until Sam moves out of the way. It's only when he reaches over to grab the remote, that Dean realizes that Sam is undoing his shirt and he swallows, hand half on the remote, half on the bed, eyes locked on Sam's fingers. They're long and slender, tanned (like the rest of his body) from hours of being outside, working a job or just sitting with Dean, fixing the Impala. The way Sam undoes the buttons - like they're the most delicate thing in the whole goddamn world, like if one wrong move and he would snap them in half - pulls Dean in and he bites his lower lip.  
  
The last button slips from Sam's fingertips and he moves his hands up, gripping either side of the flannel, before peeling it back and off of his shoulders. He tosses the shirt onto the floor and lifts his arms, stretching slightly and Dean lets out a moan, biting his lip even harder when he sees Sam's muscles flex underneath the flimsy tank-top he's wearing.   
  
"Sammy."  
  
Letting his arms drop to his sides, Sam turns around and cocks an eyebrow at Dean, who's staring at him like a piece of meat. He chuckles, somewhat nervously, and turns so that his entire body is facing the bed, before crossing both arms over his chest. "What is it, Dean?"  
  
For a second, Dean wants to shake his head and say 'nothing,' but when Sam crosses both arms over his chest, his muscles flex again and he sits up, setting his beer on the nightstand. His eyes are locked on Sam's biceps and he grazes his teeth along his bottom lip, eyes finally moving up to lock on Sam's, his hazel irises shining in the low light.  
  
"You shouldn't take your shirt off like that," Dean breathes the words and grins, throwing his legs off the bed as he reluctantly pulls his gaze from Sam and his body. "In fact, you shouldn't have been  _wearing_  a shirt - you know, because of your tattoo." As he walks around the end of the bed, Dean stops and leans against the foot board, grinning broadly now.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and chuckles, lifting a hand to run over his collarbone, less than an inch from where his tattoo lay, muttering, "I know how to take care of a tattoo, Dean - you don't need to worry about it."  
  
"Oh, but I am, Sammy.." Taking a step forward, Dean licks his lips and cocks his head to the side, eyes gliding up and down Sam's body slowly, before locking back on his eyes once more. Either Dean is going crazy or the light in the room is even shittier than they thought because, when he looks at Sam's eyes, he swears they've gotten darker and the pupil looks blown--almost as though it were lust-blown.  
  
"And why is that?" Sam's voice is shaky and he can't help but bite at his lower lip, his eyelashes fluttering for a second, before he's staring into Dean's eyes. The green irises are dark and they contrast beautifully against Dean's skin and his hair, making him even more beautiful, especially in low light. Swallowing hard, Sam forces his eyes down and finds himself looking at his brother's crotch - a noticeable bulge forming in the some-what-skin-tight denim.   
  
"Because you're my baby brother," Dean starts off, his voice low and rough with lust as he steps forward, whispering, "and maybe because I really don't want to see you in a shirt right now." Before Sam can open his mouth and protest - or say anything else, for that matter - Dean reaches out and grabs the hem of his shirt, tugging it up slowly, nudging his arms up.   
  
Sam complies and lifts his arms over his head, looking up at the ceiling as he feels the soft cotton move along his skin. For a second, the feeling is gone and then he feels a sharp, burning on his chest and hisses loudly, looking down at Dean. His brother looks back up at him with a shit-eating grin and a soft  _whoops_ , before pulling the shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.  
  
"Dea--" The word gets silenced by Dean's lips slotting against his own and Sam can't help but tangle a hand in his brother's hair. The short locks feel fantastic and silky and  _familiar_ underneath his fingertips and Sam gives them a light tug, pulling Dean against him as he moves his free hand down, wrapping it around Dean's hip.   
  
The kiss starts off slow; Dean's tongue exploring Sam's mouth when he parts his lips, licking every single spot he can, before retracting and licking at his lips. When he feels Dean's tongue move along his lips - swiping across the top one, before tracing the lower lip - Sam's entire body shudders and he grips his brother's hip tightly, the hand in his hair gripping roughly. A noise of pleasure - a moan or a groan, Sam really can't tell - leaves his throat and he finds himself backing Dean up toward the bed, their tongues wrestling each other for dominance.   
  
Dean makes a soft  _oof_  noise when the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he pulls away from Sam's lips, chuckling lightly before biting at the bottom one, sucking it between his lips. Closing his eyes tightly, Sam lets out a soft moan and pulls away, tugging his lip back until Dean releases it, pouting slightly.  
  
"Don't do that," he mumbles as he leans in, ghosting their lips together, before pushing Dean back onto the bed, "you know it just makes me wanna kiss you."  
  
Grinning more, Dean props himself up on his elbows and settles his heels against the bed frame, head cocked to the side. "Yeah, I know - now strip off the rest of your clothes, Sammy."

Sam makes a face when Dean calls him _Sammy_  but steps back, both hands moving to his belt, fingers making quick work of the buckle. He pushes both sides of the belt away and moves his hands down, pushing the pad of one thumb underneath the button of his jeans, grabbing the denim with both hands. Popping the button quickly, Sam allows himself to drop his gaze, eyes locking on the zipper as he pulls it down.  
  
From the bed, Dean watches and licks his lips, silent except for the occasional gasp or moan when he watches Sam, noticing the muscles in his arms flexing even more. When Sam looks up from his jeans, however, Dean chuckles and pushes himself forward, moving both hands to the bottom of his own shirt. He lifts the fabric up and off, hissing when the hem drags across his tattoo, before dropping it onto the end of the bed.  
  
"I thought that  _I_  was the only one allowed to strip right now?" Sam chuckles and grabs either side of his jeans, tugging them down his legs slowly, watching Dean with a curious look on his face. No response comes from Dean - none in the form of  _words_ , that is - and he bites his lower lip, letting out a small whimper when he sees Sam's legs, the ends of his boxer briefs clinging to his thighs. Rolling his head back, Dean shakes it and lets out a small laugh, muttering, "Yeah yeah, shuddup Sasquatch."  
  
Shaking his head and kicking his jeans to the side, Sam straightens up and hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his briefs, pulling them out in a teasing way. He lets it snap back and laughs when Dean growls, his head dropping forward, eyes locking on Sam's hipbones, teeth worrying over his bottom lip slowly.  
  
"Like what you see, then?" Sam asks, pulling the waistband out again before letting it snap back, biting his lower lip at the sharp pain. The only answer he gets is in the form of a rough growl from somewhere deep in Dean's chest, and the feel of his brother's fingers wrapping tightly around his hips. He hisses and bites his lower lip harder, lifting both hands to run them through Dean's hair slowly, yelping when he feels teeth scraping along his abs.  
  
 _Fuck_ , Sam thinks to himself as he lets his head fall back, fingers threading through Dean's hair slowly as the bites trail up toward his chest. He doesn't really think about Dean biting - or even  _touching_  - his tattoo until the eldest's teeth are grazing over the raised skin, causing Sam to yelp again.

"You like that, Sammy? The pain making your cock hard?" Dean laughs, pulling a rough noise from deep in his chest, and Sam can't help but buck his hips forward, whimpering out something close to a yes. Licking his lips slowly, Dean pushes Sam back and stands up, moving both hands from Sam's hips to the small of his back, resting them there. "Want me to play with this tattoo more, huh?"   
  
Everything in Sam's body - and mind - is telling him to say no, to lie and say that he's  _not_  enjoying the pain-pleasure caused by Dean's teeth, but he can't. He can't lie because the evidence is  _right there,_  in the front of his boxer briefs, and he whines softly, "Yeah - yeah, want you to, Dean."   
  
With a grin, Dean nods and lifts one hand, moving it around to Sam's chest, his fingertips skirting along the outline of his tattoo. A shudder rocks Sam's body and he moves his hands to Dean's back, placing them between his shoulders, fingernails scraping along his skin. "Such a dirty boy, Sammy, getting off on the pain..." Dean's voice is low and Sam swallows hard, bucking his hips forward for  _some_  friction, whining when he can't find any.

"Can't get off when you aren't even  _touching_  me, Dean." He barely whispers the words out when he feels Dean's fingers move along the raised skin, pressing down lightly, causing his entire body to shudder once more. A strangled noise leaves Sam's throat and he moves one hand down, undoing Dean's jeans quickly before shoving a hand inside, palming him through his boxers. "Want you on top of me, while you do that..."

"Pushy," Dean laughs before bringing his hand away and moving it down, wrapping his fingers around Sam's wrist, pulling it away. "Get on the bed, then." He moves his hand down to Sam's ass and slaps it, grinning when he hears the smack, followed by a moan from Sam. Licking his lips, Dean steps away and pushes his jeans down, kicking them to the side, before pulling his boxers down, watching Sam do the same with his briefs.  
  
Once his briefs are down and off, Sam moves to the bed and leans against the headboard, both hands on his lap, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looks at Dean. Licking his own lips, Dean steps forward and crawls onto the bed, straddling Sam's hips easily, one leg tucked underneath the youngest's, one hand going to his chest almost immediately.   
  
He breathes deeply and leans in, catching Sam's lips with his own as he presses the heel of his hand against Sam's tattoo, grinding against it slowly. A loud, pained moan comes from Sam's throat and he lifts a hand, fisting it into Dean's hair, tugging it roughly, listening to him whimper. Chuckling softly, Sam mutters an apology and eases up a little, until Dean moves his hand down, dragging his nails along the tattoo.  
  
"Jesus fucking  _Christ_!" Sam moans out, bucking his hips up toward Dean's, whimpering when he finally gets the friction he's been seeking. Their cocks slide together and Sam tilts his head back against the board, sucking in a deep breath when he feels Dean's fingertips rubbing against the newly-inked skin. Instead of hissing because of the pain, Sam finds himself hissing (and moaning) at the feel of Dean rubbing against his tattoo, the pain sending shock wave after shock wave down his spine.   
  
His cock is throbbing hard and all Sam wants is for Dean to wrap his hand around it; he needs the friction, the feel of Dean's rough skin against his cock, and he needs it  _now_. Whining loudly, Sam bucks his hips up again and moves a shaky hand to Dean's free one, grabbing his wrist before moving his hand down, muttering, "Need you to touch me Dean,  _please_."

"You _need_  it, huh?" Dean lets Sam move his hand down and he brushes his fingers along the head of his cock, smirking at the sounds that erupt from Sam's throat. Wrapping his hand around the base, Dean strokes up slowly and presses his palm against Sam's chest again, rubbing the tattoo in rhythm with his hand.   
  
The combination of movement causes Sam to move his hands to the bed, gripping the sheets tightly as he cants his hips up, fucking into Dean's hand, whining softly. When Dean grips his cock gently and digs his fingertips into the tattoo, Sam nearly screams and starts panting heavily, lifting an even shakier hand up, wrapping it around Dean's hip. He wets his lips idly and shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut as Dean starts stroking his cock harder, mumbling 'sweet nothings' as he does it, twisting his wrist slightly.  
  
"So fucking hot, Sammy - you getting hard because of  _pain_ ," Dean whispers as he runs his thumb along the underside of Sam's cock, before dragged it down the shaft slowly. "I know you get off from  _biting_  but when I touch your tattoo," he rubs the tattoo slowly, dragging his fingers down and back up, "that's a whole different story."  
  
Sam can't keep noises from escaping, no matter how hard he bites his lip, and Dean's name slips out as a half-scream as he lifts his hips, fucking into his hand more. He moans out things like  _'harder, Dean_ ,' and  _'fucking scratch me_ ,' until Dean obeys, his hand moving up and down Sam's cock harder while he scratches the tattoo.  And he's too wrapped up in the pain and the pleasure to think about how  _fucked_  his tattoo is going to be when Dean is done with it.   
  
"Come for me, Sam," Dean breathes as he leans in and bites at the juncture of Sam's neck, dragging his teeth along the skin lightly, twisting his wrist more. "Wanna feel you fucking let go," he whispers as he nips at Sam's jaw, stroking his cock harder as he grinds his thumb into the tattoo, listening to Sam moan loudly.  
  
Bucking his hips forward and swallowing repeatedly, Sam moves both hands to the sheets again, fingers tangling in the fabric as his entire body trembles underneath Dean and his touch. His orgasm is building and Sam grits his teeth together, moving a hand up, threading his fingers in Dean's hair, tugging it roughly.  
  
"I'm gonna -  _gonna come_ _, Dean_..." Sam nearly screams the words out as his orgasm hits, knocking the breath out of him as his hips jerk forward. He eventually gasps and moans Dean's name out loudly, repeating it over and over until it comes out as a soft pant, his hips finally stilling.   
  
Dean kisses up Sam's neck and over his jaw and cheek, pecking his lips softly, smiling against them as he pulls his hands away. "Jesus Christ, Sammy," he laughs out when he looks down at the mess on both of them - Dean's hand and stomach is covered with come, and Sam's got streaks of it along his cock and lower abdomen. "We're definitely doing  _that_ again."  
  
"Fuck you," Sam mutters, halfheartedly, and lifts his hand, scrubbing it down the side of his face, exhaling sharply.  
  
"I'll let you rest for a bit before I take you up on that offer." Dean slaps Sam's thigh with his clean hand and slides off of his lap, standing beside the bed. He grabs his boxers and cleans his hand and stomach up, before tossing it to Sam with a grin. "Just lay there and look pretty for me when I get back, okay?"  
  
Sam looks at Dean with his eyebrow raised and then picks the soiled boxers up, cleaning his stomach and cock up slowly, whining when the fabric brushes over his cock. Sighing heavily, he tosses the underwear onto the floor and turns his head, eyes fluttering shut before opening again, settling on Dean, who's getting dressed.  
  
"Where are you going?" Sam's voice is groggy and tired and Dean laughs at it as he pulls his jeans on, buttoning them quickly.   
  
He reaches over and pats Sam's calve lightly before grabbing his shirt, straightening up as he mumbles, "Out. I need food if I'm gonna let you fuck me later tonight." With a wink, Dean pulls on his shirt and smooths it down, smiling at Sam before he walks around the end of the bed. "I'll be back in half an hour - no jerking off while I'm gone, got it?"

Sam salutes and lets out a half-broken chuckle before falling onto his side, curling up on the middle of the bed, grumbling, "Don't worry - my cock will stay untouched until you return."  
  
"Better," Dean replies as he grabs his keys and jacket, before walking out of the door.  
  
Five minutes after Dean leaves, Sam passes out on the middle of the bed from exhaustion and pain. His chest burns so badly that he doesn't move from the fetal position he's in, and he whimpers throughout his sleep, when his arm brushes across his chest. as he sleeps, Sam decides (subconsciously, of course) that there will be a next time for the pain play, but not until his tattoo is healed.


End file.
